


There Ain't No Second Chance Against the Thing With Forty Eyes

by verucapsalter



Category: Good Omens (TV), Van Helsing (2004)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crack, Crack Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 02:24:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21236594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verucapsalter/pseuds/verucapsalter
Summary: Plot twist: it's the same Gabriel.Horror comedy, but mostly just silly.





	1. It's Less a Game of Blind Poker, More Cards Against Humanity

The archangel Gabriel was missing. During the first few decades, everyone had assumed he had just been stuck on Earth cleaning up after the 14th century, tying up loose ends, doing a thorough job to the impeccable standards of Heaven. When the second century crept onwards with neither hide nor hair of his presence, Michael and Sandalphon had conjured an entire secret network of humans to do holy works, which is to say, report on suspicious matters. Mostly it had just resulted in a lot of false confessions from ultimately totally mundane humans, and loads of paperwork to cover their trail.1 She informed the rest of the angels that Gabriel was moderating this situation from terra firma and should not be interrupted.

When his third missing century rolled around, Michael told the rest of the host he'd been put on an undercover mission to get intel from Hell, and that his whereabouts were top secret.

_I do suppose only the top of the ladder knows where he's got to_, she thought.

What with Her more recent silence and the promotion of the Metatron, no one was really too bothered to question it.

* * *

**1888**

Van Helsing had isolated himself again, returning to the wilds where he might feel some peace, or at least be very far from people who could be injured. He could feel the werewolf venom resurging. Dracula's cure had staved it off for some time, but it clearly had not been strong enough, accounting for a previously supernatural, well, host. A corporation which was currently struggling to battle the acrid power flowing through its veins.

A voice in the back of his head said _veins? that's odd_, and his stomach dropped off a cliff. The alien thought became an enveloping cold, sucking every bit of warmth from his nerves, spreading throughout his entire body until even his head felt like it had been locked away in a lead casket.

_Like for vampires, and other unholy corruptions_, he thought.

He felt a quick jolt, and in his mind's eye he saw another form in the blackness. He knew the distant figure held a lantern, but the warm candlelight only exposed a disembodied hand. A heavy silver fog began to press in and obscure the light. No— pushing him away? The surrounding darkness was disorienting, but he could sense the other figure innately and could feel the growing distance like two selfsame magnetic poles, rejecting each other with every atom. A faint light appeared behind the other and the mist between them was no longer pushing him away, but pulling him into the depths, drowning him, as the other surfaced.

_What's happening?! Help me!_ he thought, reaching out towards the ascending shadow.

Two icy, amethyst pinpricks appeared above the lamp.

_We're done here._

* * *

Gabriel snapped his fingers and manifested a sharp, cool grey suit. The leather overcoat, muck-covered clothes and boots, and _positively horrendous_ leather hat he banished to a pile in the grass beside him. He raised his hand and glanced at the pile, briefly recalling the golden brass heel and toe caps onto his highly polished dress shoes, simultaneously banishing every atom of corrosion and filth. With a shake of his wrist he willed his cufflinks and now-formerly-silver ring to match, and completed his snap. The pile of rags burned away with an oily smoke, the flames dancing in his gleeful eyes. He considered, momentarily, throwing himself on the pile just to thoroughly exorcise every bit of earthly matter— and other contrivances— from this corporation.

_I could play dumb,_ he thought. _Hey team, got trapped by demons for four hundred years, they finally discorporated me. What did I miss?_ But no, that wouldn't work. Surely Hell would have crowed about capturing an archangel, and he couldn't very well have anyone suspecting he was fool enough to actually get captured. _Can't have any angels setting their sights above their station._

If he hadn't been smirking angrily at the pile which was quickly turning to soot, he might have noticed a sniggering face drifting away on the wind.2 Instead he watched the flames go out, unclenched his fist, and took off into the clouds. 

* * *

The office door slammed open, cracking against the wall behind it and shuddering on its hinges. Michael's eyes went wide.

"Gabriel!" She jumped up from her desk and fell in step with him. "You—"

"Not here," he growled quietly, through a gritted smile. Michael grasped his upper arm.

"The conference room, then." She hustled him through the doorway and shut it behind her. "Where the Devil have you been." She placed two fists, knuckle-down, on the conference table, leaning over it. Gabriel had sidled over to the plate glass windows, arms folded, looking out over the Everything.

She watched him in silence for several moments before continuing, "I told everyone you were undercover with our men on Earth, so whatever lie you're about to tell me, it's covered." Gabriel spun on his heel, eyes wide.

"Our men on Earth?" he asked, not understanding.

"Yes, a selection of human assets," she said, standing upright and clasping her hands primly. "We convened them after you failed to report back."

His face was etched in a pained smirk. "I..."

"_Do_ tell me you know what you've been up to for the last four centuries."

The response came to him nearly as easily as any other miracle, and he schooled his face into a look of cool terror. _Not a lie. Just burnish the truth a little._

"The humans are... shall we say, self-possessed," he started, anxiously. "It's much worse than we thought. When we went down there, I—" _went to go smite some demons, maybe got overzealous_, his brain filled in. "—I, I mean, we went to investigate all those summonings and the like—"

"Yes, _I know_," Michael interrupted pointedly. "None of which turned out to be anything of our concern. Cheap theatrics for the most part, and nothing the Son didn't already cover, elsewise." Gabriel drew himself up, feeling the inertia of his story, and raised his eyebrow in a patronizing manner. Michael might have her suspicions, but he would never admit to any weakness, for Heaven's sake nor especially his own. It wasn't a threat if no one knew, and Michael had enough weapons as it stood.

"You should be concerned," he restarted, more secure in his telling. "One human did manage to sell his soul to the Devil, and, sure, what's one soul? It's all moving the chips around. But," he sat at the table for dramatic effect. "He figured out how to weaponize that against other humans. Claim their souls for Lucifer without their assent. And other humans tried to stop him, and they all got swept up in defying the afterlife, Creating on their own, and now we've got a total shitshow on our hands."

Michael looked vaguely perturbed as she processed this. "And you?"

"I smited him, well, them. Most of them. And recalled some souls from Purgatory to boot." He grinned smarmily and put his feet up on the conference table. "So aside from this technical hiccup, we didn't come out too shabby. Accountants will be happy." Michael continued to look down at him, mouth pinched, considering.

"I suppose it will do," she demurred. "We can put the field agents on alert, make sure the humans don't muck up the End of Days with this nonsense. You can prep a report, we'll set up a presser so you can debrief the host. R&D can follow up in detail."

Gabriel sat up and leaned onto the table clasping his hands in a visage of propriety. "Sounds settled." Michael raised one eyebrow and raised her chin slightly.

"Report this to Her office immediately. Any loose ends left on Earth we need to address?"

"Uh," he reddened slightly as he stood. "Remember R&D's work on the fully human, fully divine situation? I need a consult. Mighta... mm... got bit by a werewolf. The... uh... human cure..." He waved his hand ineffectually. Michael visibly crumpled.

"Fucking Christ, Gabriel."

* * *

After Michael had collected herself and left him to his duty, Gabriel exited the conference room and marched directly to the Metatron's office. He paused outside to check his jacket was buttoned and swept his hair into place before opening the door.

"Hey boss. She in?" Gabriel stepped in and shut the door behind him.

"Welcome back, Gabriel," the Metatron smiled. "So glad to see you back in our golden ranks. She's in a meeting at the moment."

"A meeting? She's seeing folks again?" Perhaps he had missed more than he thought.

"Ah, just the Holy Spirit. You know. Trinity." The Metatron nodded sagely. Gabriel nodded in return, though to be honest he'd never quite understood the subtleties of it. Details like that were beneath his paygrade. "But perhaps we could arrange something at a future date?" 

"It's actually pretty important, I've got something here that might upset all her Plans." He leaned a degree backwards, cautiously eyeing the other angel to see how this news landed.

"She will take it under advisement at Her leisure," the Metatron stated warmly. "Ah, I nearly forgot. She left this for you." He held out a crisp ivory card with gleaming calligraphy.

"Thanks," Gabriel said, taking the envelope. "Let Her know it's important, mmkay?"

"Of course, Gabriel. I'm sure your Heavenly duties are anxious enough to see your return. But I will alert you at Her earliest convenience." Gabriel smiled and pointed his finger at the other angel.

"Thanks, buddy."

Gabriel exited the C-suite3 and retreated into his personal office. There was no dust in the ageless expanse of Heaven (except when conjured for atmospheric lighting), so aside from several stacked bins of paperwork, everything was exactly as he'd left it. He leaned back in his chair, sighing contentedly. The beleaguerment of the mortal plane was finally starting to wear off, at least enough until he could get help for the more ingrained issues.

With his celestial clarity returning by the minute, he turned his attention to getting back into the rhythm of Heaven. Michael had provided an excellent cover for his abandoned duties, and the frankly bizarre machinations of humans had provided a perfect springboard for the rest of his explanations. The rest of the host would see it as the simple oddities of extended exposure to the worldly experience. Heavenly speaking, it would be — literally — no matter. The Big Boss hadn't deigned to see him despite his concerns, but he could continue to keep an eye out for any problems moving forward. Salvation was their angelic charge, after all.

Having absolved himself of worries for Heaven, and confident even Michael had eked out no certain details of his exploits, Gabriel straightened his posture and resigned to set to the pile of paperwork awaiting him. He opened the welcome card.

_Nice hat, champ._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Michael was relieved to discover that Hell had taken demonic credit for this whole charade, which decreased the filing substantially and, to her quiet delight, swept her motives under the rug.[Return to text]
> 
> 2\. To his credit and the rest of human nature, clouds weren't terribly indelible. Even with the advantage of pareidolia, She and her Family would eventually be much more prone to appearing in toasty breads and other comforting fried things, where people might be more likely to pay attention.[Return to text]
> 
> 3\. The original See, and the Holiest.[Return to text]


	2. Epilogue

**MONDAY, THE EIGHTH DAY**

Crowley sat in the back room of the bookshop, reading the morning's newspapers with Aziraphale. They had decided that, after everything (and some rather stellar champagne hangovers), a quiet breakfast was really the right way to get back into the swing of things. Aziraphale sipped his tea and worked through the pile of baked goods, while Crowley glowered at his black coffee and swore to never ever again consume that much sugar. It was a good thing Apocalypses only came once in a lifetime. 4

"Save all of existence and two days later everything's back to the grind," he said as he turned the next page. Aziraphale looked up over his glasses from where he was hovering over his own edition.

"Well, Adam did clean up after himself. It's easy to forget about the Kraken and vanished-away infrastructure when all the evidence is put to rights."

"Fair point," Crowley said, continuing to peruse the headlines. "A little terrifying to think what we might have been dealing with if Adam hadn't been just given Witch Girl's kooky American rags."

Aziraphale nodded in agreement. "Bat Boy's much preferrable to some of the more horrible ideas humans have had over the years."

"Oi, Bat Boy, now there's a nightmare and a half. D'you ever meet him, Vlad?"

"No, thank goodness," Aziraphale said, imagining what Armageddon might have looked like with an additional horseperson that was more horror than person.

"Can you imagine?" Crowley continued. "One day you're a lordly little brat getting murdered in the tavern by some carousing reveler, next moment you're begging the Lord of Hell for an opportunity to really plumb the depths of human depravity. Too bad he couldn't be a demon, 'stead of selling his soul. He'd put the whole impaling department out of work."

Aziraphale considered the implications of promoting human souls to celestial and occult stations, remembering— between the two Christs— how much trouble had been caused, and immediately conjured his tea into a very strong whiskey. "I'm not too keen on discussing philosophy just yet, my dear." Crowley snorted.

"He and his pals sure gave us a hassle down Below. Truly ungodly amounts of paperwork! And I don't mean that as a compliment. Glad to see the back of it."

"You do realize without the extinction of the human race that we might be in for more of that?" Aziraphale paled. "Heaven certainly never addressed my reports, just another field document destined for the round file in the end. Maybe, well, Next Time like you said, Humanity will have that as an advantage, and—"

Crowley dropped the sheets he had been holding. "Sorry, your reports? I thought you said you didn't meet Vlad."

"I didn't, I just, er," Aziraphale chewed his bottom lip. "The Holy Order used to need so much research, I was a librarian there for a while. Kept some quite close tabs on the odd bits, cross-referenced with my prophecy books."

"Angel, when you say 'kept'," Crowley folded his hands on the table in front of him, lowering his glasses with a knowing smirk.

"Imight'veremovedsomeraretextsfromtheVatican?" Aziraphale said in a pinched falsetto, pulling away into the back of his chair.

"You WHAT!" Crowley howled with laughter. "You really are wicked."

"Well it's not like they were using them!" Aziraphale huffed, returning himself to a more prim posture. "All the humans were out blowing things up and stabbing creatures, and I didn't want to risk the manuscripts getting destroyed, and they certainly deserved better than just getting locked away in a forgotten vault again."

"Only you could come out of a veritable stewpot of damnation bearing paperwork and souvenirs."

"The humans seemed to have it perfectly under control." Aziraphale said, taking another pastry from between them.

"'M not sure a centuries-long swath of cursed bodies counts as 'under control'," Crowley mumbled, returning to his paper.

"I suppose if humanity were ever under control at all," Aziraphale agreed, "we'd have been out of a job ages ago."

"Mm. Imagine if they'd managed to find out their mild librarian was an Angel! They'd probably have you out there smiting abominations left and right. It would certainly have gotten the job done faster."

"That would be a sight. 'Do not be afraid! Okay, yes, you, bit of Unholiness over there, DO be afraid,'" Aziraphale laughed. "Would've found out about the missing sword a lot sooner."

"Haha!" it was Crowley's turn to scoff. "Can you picture Gabriel's face? 'Nice work, ol' Azzy, but we're writing you up for loss of company property.' Good thing he's not your superior officer anymore."

"Yes, I'll take my books over all that any day," Aziraphale said, gently running his fingers over the newspaper and returning to its contents.

"It sounds like you've taken quite a few already," Crowley teased.

Aziraphale tutted. "Oh, shut up and drink your coffee."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4\. Statistical outliers be damned. Or saved.[Return to text]

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween!


End file.
